


The Nightmare World

by zeldadestry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-29
Updated: 2005-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I could lose my job,' he says. 'I could lose my life. You have to tell me, Remus.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightmare World

**Author's Note:**

> written for the contrelamontre 'Betrayal' challenge

It is midnight before Kingsley finally arrives home. “Can’t stay,” he says, kissing Remus quickly before heading to their bedroom. There is something so strange and distracted in his manner that Remus follows closely behind, concerned.

“What is it?” Kingsley is throwing a few things into a bag, clothes, dark detectors, and his second wand. “Where are you going? What’s happened?”

Kingsley stops and stares down at his hands, obviously undecided. Finally, he looks straight at Remus and says, “Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.”

Remus turns, turns quickly, but he knows that Kingsley has already seen, seen an expression on his face that should not be there. “I see,” he says.

Kingsley is kind and does not mention Remus’s obvious distress. “They’ve put me in charge of the investigation. They’re very worried about Harry Potter, Remus. They think he’s the target. They’re worried about you, too, actually. There will be someone keeping watch over the flat, so don’t be scared.”

Remus is not scared. He doesn’t know what he feels, but fear is not part of it. Even if Sirius is guilty of everything else, Remus can still not imagine that he could ever hurt Harry. No, he can’t say what his feelings are, but he does know that they are closer to those of one who loves Sirius Black than of one who loves James and Lily and Peter and he hates himself for it. “Alright,” he says, because Kingsley is waiting for him to say something.

Kingsley moves around the bed and, standing behind Remus, puts his hands on his shoulders. “I hate to ask,” he says, “but is there anything, any information at all, you can tell me that might be helpful? Please, Remus.”

He freezes, and then realizes that Kingsley will understand what this pause, the tension in his body, has unintentionally revealed. When he answers, “no, there’s nothing I can tell you,” they both know it is a lie.

“Alright, then,” Kingsley says. “I’ll see you soon, I hope.” Remus does not turn to watch him as he leaves the room. He stands, unmoving, until he hears the crack of Kingsley apparating. He strays over to the window, feels the chill of the night air through the glass, stares down at the reflections of street lights in puddles.

  
The days turn into weeks turn into a month, and Remus is forced to admit to himself that if it were going to happen, if Sirius were going to appear and explain how it had all been a horrible mistake, if he were going to come and make the nightmare go away, erase, or at least ease, all the suffering and desperation of the last twelve years, if Sirius were going to help him, was going to ask Remus for his help, it would have already happened.

Kingsley has not asked again for the secret they both know Remus is carrying. He will have to, though, eventually. His loyalty and devotion to his job will force him to ask. Remus is glad that Kingsley is so often gone from their home, because it leaves him alone with the secret of Sirius’s transformation. That secret, after all, is the greatest gift he has ever received. It has never lost its comfort.

  
Late on a Friday night, Remus comes home to find Kingsley drinking with Mad-Eye Moody. From the look Moody gives Remus when he enters the flat, it is obvious that Kingsley has confided in him. Moody turns on Remus with a scowl and a suspicious squint. Being glared at like a traitor is painful as a brand. He is immensely relieved when Moody departs. Kingsley is drunk, and his movements are sloppy. This makes it all the more surprising when he stalks up to Remus and grabs him. He is usually so careful with his strength, but now his grip is hurting Remus. He shoves Remus into the wall, with so much determination in his eyes, it is indistinguishable from hate. “You have to tell me,” he says. He presses the whole of his strong, long body against Remus, takes his left hand, his dominant hand, and applies a light, but constant, pressure against Remus’s throat. “I could lose my job,” he says. “I could lose my life. You have to tell me, Remus.”

Remus does not struggle. He knows Kingsley would never hurt him, no matter how angry, drunk, or provoked. When he says, “you’re hurting me,” Kingsley lets him go. He moves away, and Kingsley does not follow. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t tell you.”

Kingsley shouts then, striking the wall with his fist, knocking a hole right through it, so that pulverized white plaster flies up in a cloud. His fist is stuck in the wall, and when he pulls it out chunks of the wall fall to the ground. “I always knew you loved him,” he says, laughing, though it is obvious that none of this is funny to either of them. “I tried not to think about it. How could you love the man who murdered so many people? He murdered all your friends. He was You-know-who’s right hand man! How could you, how could you love him?” He shakes his head, pleads in absolute astonishment for Remus to place the answer in his waiting hands. “How could you? I didn’t understand it, but as long as I thought,” his voice breaks, "you loved me, I didn’t care.” He stands there, collecting himself, sniffling, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. Remus does not move to comfort him. Keeping his eyes down, Kingsley mutters as though to himself, “but you don’t even love me, do you, you little shit? You don’t love me at all.” Now he looks at Remus, again, only to say, loudly, fervently, “go to hell.” He moves down the hallway, slowly, leaning against the wall for support. Now Remus moves forward, now he moves towards him to try and help, but Kingsley strikes out at him, his hands in fists. “Get the fuck away from me.”

Remus obeys. He waits until he hears the bedroom door shut, and then runs from the house. He has to get away.

He does not return until the next afternoon. Kingsley is there, looking ghastly. “I’m sorry about what I said,” he says. “I never should have said all that and I didn’t mean it.” He drops to his knees in front of Remus. “Tell me you forgive me, please.”

Remus rests his hands on top of Kingsley’s head. The skin there is warm and thin and prickly with stubble. “I forgive you,” he says, bending down to press his lips to Kingsley’s forehead. “I forgive you.” Of course he forgives Kingsley. It’s easy. He has already forgiven so much worse.

  
It is early the next morning when Remus awakens in the cold bed. As his eyes adjust to the dim light, he can see Kingsley moving around. “Hey,” he says. “Come on back to bed.”

Kingsley approaches the bed and bends down. “Wish I could,” he says, “but I have to go.” Remus leans in so that they can kiss, so that he can press his cheek against Kingsley’s, so that they can both be comforted.

“Do you have to go?”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Black is at Hogwart’s. They saw him. It doesn’t make any sense; the dementors have found nothing, and yet he’s there. I’m going with Rufus; he’ll be here soon. We’re going to put an end to this, one way or another.”

Remus swallows. “Be careful,” he says.

“I’m always careful.” Kingsley kisses him again. “I love you,” he says, as he stands. “Go back to sleep.”

He leaves the room, and Remus huddles down deeper into the covers. He is alone, now. He will be alone until Kingsley comes back. If Kingsley comes back, he reminds himself, if, if, if. He asks himself, will you let Sirius take everything? Will you let him take all your friends, including himself, away, will you? Will you let him make you, finally, truly, a lone wolf? Is this what you want, to always be alone, with no companion but your grief? What will you do if Kingsley dies? Not only will you be alone, but it will be by your hands that he is gone. Will you sacrifice everyone so that Sirius can live? Is he so much more to you than even your own life? He gets out of bed slowly.

In the kitchen light, he can see that Kingsley looks exhausted. There are bags under his eyes and broken blood vessels in the whites of his eyes. His lips are gray. Remus stands in the doorway, leans against the frame. “I will tell you,” he says. “I will tell you.”

Kingsley looks up from his toast and tea. “Tell me what?”

“About Black. I will tell you.” This must be what it is like waiting your turn for the gallows.

Kingsley folds the paper he had been reading and puts it in his pocket. He stands and takes his dishes to the sink, pouring the rest of his tea down the drain. Turning back, he moves close to Remus, reaches out a hand to gently rest his warm fingers on the slight dip of Remus’s bare waist. “No,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want you to tell me. There’s nothing you have to prove.”

Remus’s stomach sinks. He was not sure. He was not sure, but now he knows. Kingsley is a good man. He can not sacrifice him, he can not let him be hurt, let him be killed. What he does is for Kingsley’s sake, not for his own. None of this is for his own sake. If he can not be with Sirius, then he would choose to be by himself, nursing on the possibility of being with Sirius. Now he must give up both, the real man and his dream of him. “I have to tell you,” he says. He beckons to Kingsley with his finger. “Let me whisper it in your ear.”

Kingsley bends down from his great height so that their heads are level. He brushes Remus’s hair away from his face. “Alright,” he whispers. “If you’re sure.”

Remus nods, and turn his head so that his lips are near Kingsley’s ears. He feels like a child confessing. He is a child who knows his confession will result in the delivery of the greatest blow he has ever had to bear. “He’s an Animagus,” he says, and it’s like a wind rushes from him, like the invisible kiss of a hundred dementors. “He turns himself into a big, black dog. That’s why the dementors can’t find him.” Now his soul has left his body, never to return. He will never speak again.

Kingsley holds him close. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.” Kingsley kisses Remus’s temple, his cheeks, his neck, and Remus stands there, still and silent, not trying to hide or stop the tears that are beginning to drop from his eyes. He sees the future more clearly than any method of divination ever could. They will find Sirius. They will turn him over to the dementors. Remus has lived on the most meager ration of hope, but once Sirius is gone from this world, that hope, thin as a thread, will have snapped. Now, Remus tells himself, now you will truly discover what it means to be alone. There is no more Padfoot for Moony, no more Sirius for Remus. There is no more dream. Welcome to the nightmare world.  



End file.
